Brighter On The Inside
by Laura Schiller
Summary: The Twelfth Doctor's jacket has a red silk lining. Inspired by the promotional photos.


Brighter On The Inside

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Doctor Who

Copyright: BBC

The first thing the Doctor did upon finally landing the TARDIS was disappear down a corridor.

"Going to find a change of clothes," he tossed over his shoulder. "I look ridiculous."

Clara did not have the breath to form a reply, even if she could think of one. She could only cling to the TARDIS railing, all too conscious of her unsteady legs. Once he was out of the room, she slowly bent down to pick up his bow tie from the floor. _Ridiculous. _She smoothed the soft black silk and held it to her cheek.

He'd thrown away that tie so easily, this new Doctor. What else would he throw away?

"Not you, old girl, at any rate," she whispered to the TARDIS, which hummed at her in a way she could have sworn was smug.

Then a door slid open, and her friend with the face of a stranger marched in, buttoning the cuffs on a navy blue blazer. He stretched out his arms and shrugged his shoulders, adjusting the fit, in a high-energy manner she could almost recognize. But he didn't spin around, and there was no grin on his face. Instead he scowled, as if it were Clara's own fault that he had ended up with such an old body this time.

"Make just one crack about my age, Clara Oswald, and I'll send you straight back home," he growled in his new Scottish accent, just as if he'd been reading her mind.

"Wasn't going to," she retorted.

"Good." The Doctor smoothed his jacket, brushed invisible dust off his matching blue trousers, and looked down at himself with wry resignation. "Least I had some sensible clothes left. I refuse to dress like a demented English teacher."

Unluckily, since her skirt had no pockets, Clara had not found a place to hide the bow tie she still held. The Doctor's eyes, now an icy blue but as observant as ever, spotted it at once. He twitched his fingers in a silent command for her to give it back.

"I liked your outfit," she said, in a voice that trembled despite herself.

To her surprise, the Doctor's fierce, narrow face seemed to soften at those words. A shiver ran through him, as if he had caught a chill – or as if he were hurt. The idea that anything she said could hurt this formidable man was almost as frightening as the other things she had endured this Christmas.

"Better than the new one," he rumbled. "Is that it?"

"No," she said gently – to reassure him, but also, she realized, because it was true.

He was very handsome in his new suit. Almost military, minus the gold buttons and epaulets, of course. There was a dignity to him, a controlled intensity, which she recognized from some of the most dangerous moments in their adventures. It had always shone out from behind his boyish enthusiasm like stone behind a layer of bright paint; now the paint was stripped away, but the structure was no less sound.

"No," she said, taking a tentative step forward. "I like this one too. You look very … sharp."

For the first time in his new life, the Doctor smiled.

"It's brighter on the inside," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "Fitting, eh?" He flicked the lapel of his jacket aside, revealing the inside lining.

It was red.

Red as roses and strawberries and blood and her mother's lipstick, the same red Clara loved more than any other color. The same shade she wore almost every day, was wearing right now in the form of a pleated tartan skirt. _Red for passion, _Ellie Oswald used to say. _Red for new life. Did you know it gets the heart pumping faster than any other color?_

Was she reading too much into this? She looked up – high up, since he was even taller now – and saw that his smile had only grown wider. She met his eyes, which were no longer icy but as warm as a summer sky, and smiled back.

"We match," she said.

"Mm-hm. That's the idea."

The old Doctor would have thrown his arm around her, kissed her on the forehead, or even hugged her. This Doctor only looked, but she felt as warm from head to toe as she would have from a long embrace.

She handed him the bow tie without further comment. Let him put it away if he liked. At least, she thought, here was one part of his old life he was keeping.

"Now," he said, holding out his arm like a Victorian gentleman, "Let's find out where you landed us, shall we?"


End file.
